The morph
by Consort
Summary: "This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle...?" But Nergal has been dead for a week.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Assault

"This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle."

Denning watched over his squadron of forces. His purpose was simple and sure. Deliver the message to all before him. Slay those that he could. For that was the will of lord Nergal.

The morphs cascaded against Ositia's surprised forces, the first wave of guardsmen caught completely by surprise. Denning mechanically drew his bow and fired, drew his bow and fired, drew his bow and fired. Every arrow found it's mark. "This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle."

The push continued. Onwards, no matter how many morphs fell- it did not matter. Only the task mattered.

Ahead, he could see the targets. The message had to reach them, above all. A man with a thin sword and cloak was riding around on a horse, repelling his forces. The message... "This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle." Denning quickly loosed an arrow.

Eliwood darted to the side, and the silver bolt harmlessly shattered on the far wall. "Mark, the commander is the archer!"

Denning eyed his forces. Over to his left, a blond woman on a wyvern was holding back his assault, laughing as she skewered his forces. A small girl in a blue robe was tearing apart his armoured units. His second task was doomed to fail. But it was simply his purpose. He would fulfil it. "This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle."

His front line snapped, as a blue-haired man with an axe batted aside his own warriors like they weighed nothing.

"I've got this, Eliwood! Pull back to Lyn, she needs reinforcing!" Shouted the axeman.

Denning narrowed his eyes. This one was important. This one was a target. "This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you at the dread isle."

"Do you ever shut up, rot-brained cur?!" Roared Hector. He charged, brandishing his axe. Denning shot him at point blank, with enough force that the arrow should have outright killed him. It just stuck into his armor a little, and had absolutely no effect on him at all. If anything, it made him angrier.

"This is a message from lord Nergal. I await you on the dread isle."

Hector swung his axe around with incredible force, and Denning backpedaled. He could not complete his task if destroyed. He went to draw another arrow, just as he knew to do, but... he couldn't? He was in such close quarters... that he didn't know how to perform that action. From the corner of his eye, he could see the last of his forces being cut down, blown to dust.

Denning kept moving back, trying to fire an arrow, but Hector was simply unstoppable. Eventually, he came to a window. There was nowhere to move. No way to evade.

Hector's axe swing cleaved his left arm off, the silver-inlaid bow clattering to the ground. Denning stumbled back, feeling the integrity of his body failing.

"This is a message... from... lord..." The magic animating him was failing. His purpose was to deliver the message. Did they get the message? Denning fell backwards, out of the window. He fell down for a few seconds before smacking into the hard stones of the path outside. For just a few moments, he saw a few images. Flashes of other lives, the ones that had been used to build him. And then he blacked out.

* * *

Two weeks later, a maid was going to retrieve some additional wines from the storage, in preparation for her lord's victory celebration. Feeling a little bored, she decided to take a longer route, one that lead a narrow path between the walls and the castle itself. It was often quiet and shady here, a relaxing place to walk.

She found a hooded man lying face down, and screamed briefly. Then she tentatively knelt to inspect him. His chest still moved. His eyes were half-open, unmoving... and a bright, glittering gold. Jet-black hair, soaked by rainfall crusted his face.

Carefully, she rolled him over. His left arm was gone. The sleeve was torn, and caked in some kind of ash. Suddenly, the man made a small cough.

"-Nergal. I await you at the dread isle...?"

The maid screamed again.

Denning looked at her. Why did he feel so... wrong? He felt sick. Ill to the very core of his being. So fundamentally broken. He just... couldn't feel the will of his master. He couldn't sense his purpose. He needed a purpose. He had to return to his master. But his words weren't working. The sentence just wouldn't come out. But he could feel there were a few things he could say. "I await Nergal. Lord at dread isle."

The maid knelt to look at him carefully. "Are you some kind of drunkard? But how would you get so far into the castle? Hmm. You don't look like any of the nobles... You must be one of lord Hector's guests, then. I'll have you tended to. Come." She lifted Denning to his feet, and supported him, moving towards the castle infirmary.

 **Author's notes: Welcome to my first Fire emblem fic, about a character that's a meme and has never seen a serious fic before. Denning, boss of the chapter in FE7 where Osita is attacked.**

 **There will be a few pairings between characters, but they won't feature heavily.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Eroding heart

The maid all-but carried Denning to the infirmary. Denning didn't say a word, not resisting the maid but not moving himself. He just stumbled and tried to stay upright. Both his body and mind were failing, the quintessence they were forged from damaged. Now that he was moving, it was like torn rope being swung. The injuries would only grow worse. After a few minutes, they came to a wooden door.

The maid drummed on it with her fists. "Open up!"

The door creaked open. A cleric ushered them in, and the maid left. Denning's mind was a haze, and he sat down on a bench as the cleric looked at him.

"Ah... It looks like you've been poisoned, and maybe unconscious for a while. Hold yourself for a moment, I will request a restore stave from Lady Serra."

Denning slumped against the wall, head spinning. He felt like he was drowning, and the lifeline had turned to dust... dust... his arm had turned to dust... He looked at the sleeve. The fabric was ripped where... what had cleaved through it? Something blue... Blue must be quite dangerous...

The cleric returned, a fancy staff with a red gem in hand. "Here we go. I'll just take a moment to cure you..." She delicately tapped the end of the staff on the floor, causing the gem to give off a gentle glow.

Denning felt his mind clear, like a breeze had parted fog. He sighed. What was this feeling, it wasn't his... oh yes, thankfulness. But... what was thankfulness? He turned the sudden question over in his mind. It wasn't a purpose. It wasn't an action. What was it? The sheer confusion only mounted, as a few more flashes of memories blinked by him. A woman tending to some crops, just as a small boy brought her a cup of water. A man carefully working a piece of metal, as another one passed him a tool. What was that? Was Lord Nergal trying to show him something, perhaps?

The cleric looked at her patient, who had visibly relaxed a little, but had then made an odd expression of confusion. "You seem to not have eaten for a few days. You'll recover much faster after a good meal. Actually... you know what? Lord Hector is holding a feast in an hour, in honour of his brother, and to mark the start of Lycia's rebuilding. It's not going to be a particularly extravagant affair, Lord Hector's Ositian to the core, but there should be some good food and ale. Apparently he invited a lot of common folk, too."

Denning just looked ahead, trying to plan. He'd been given the skills to be a tactician, but he'd never had to think beyond a tiny battlefield. This was far beyond what he was used to, nearly impossible. To serve his purpose... he would need to find a purpose. To find a purpose... He had to find Lord Nergal. Lord Nergal... where could he be? He was at the dragon's gate, but where was that? Where was Ositia? He was on the verge of mental exhaustion, when he finally reached his conclusion. He would have to ask for directions.

"This is a message from..." He whispered, stopping.

But... how? The only words that he seemed to be able to say... could not ask for directions. This is a message from Lord Nergal. I await you at the dread isle. Perhaps the message was to him? Maybe this was a test, to make sure he was worthy to serve the lord. So... the dragon's gate had to be on the dread isle. Right? But what if it wasn't? What if he was just waiting on the dread isle, and the dragon's gate was elsewhere? No, this just made the dragon's gate irrelevant. The dread isle held his purpose. So he had to reach it. But... he still needed directions.

The cleric looked at him worriedly. "Is your throat alright? I have something you can chew to soothe it. In the meantime..." She rummaged around in a large chest, eventually pulling out a thin sheet of slate. "It's a chalkboard. Your clothes look fairly fine, so you can probably read, right? And here's some chalk. You can use them until your throat is better." She passed the chalkboard to Denning.

Denning looked at the object carefully, as if it were the key to life itself. With this... he could ask for directions. Surely now he could find lord Nergal. He could find his purpose. He put the slate on his knees gently, and picked up the chalk like it was a royal treasure. He pressed it against the board, and carefully tried to write. It felt so weird... As if his hand was never meant to hold something like this. Slowly, he wrote 'Where is the dread isle'. After looking at the sentence for a minute, he added a '?' to the end, and showed the cleric.

"The dread isle? Valor? Um... Oh, I never did too well in all this... but I think it's an island off the coast of Lycia. There are a lot of stories about how it's impossible to reach, and if you do... you, well, you die. Why do you ask? Is it linked to you?" Said the cleric.

Denning slowly nodded, and wiped the board carefully. This smudged the words more than anything, but still let him write. 'Lord nergal waits for me there'. He checked over it, before deciding something was not quite right... he rubbed out the 'n', and rewrote it twice as tall. Still not quite right, but better. He showed the cleric.

"Lord Nergal? Who's he? I suppose you must be a retainer of his then, judging by your clothes. Gosh, I hope you don't give the wrong impression of us Ositians. Whatever happened mustn't have made us look good. Still, if you're a retainer, we'd better treat you right, I guess. I'll go and introduce you to lord Hector, the feast starts soon." Said the cleric. "Come with me, now. If your legs are a little weak, I don't mind supporting a patient."

Denning just sat in the corner. Maybe this lord Hector would know other lords? Maybe he knew the directions to the dread isle. So he did his best to remain upright on his feet, and follow the cleric to the main hall.

* * *

"Milord! Milord! I need to ask some questions." Called the cleric as she entered the throne room.

Hector was at the far end, sitting on the throne. Denning was waiting outside.

Hector stood, and walked over to the cleric "Is something wrong? I swear, if it's that blasted lord of Araphen insisting that my less noble friends can't attend an informal occasion again, I'll... 'strongly' ask him to leave."

"No, milord. We found someone unconscious outside. They can't seem to speak, but they wrote that they wanted to know where Valor of all places was, because their lord was waiting for them there. By the looks of things, they're a retainer. Do we have a lord Nergal invited here? Perhaps the poor man's just having a bad reaction to whatever happened-" The cleric froze up when she realised that about a quarter of the people in the room were staring at her as if she'd turned into a plant, or fallen through the floor.

Hector raised an eyebrow "Did you say... Nergal? And this man wants to know where Valor is? I ought meet him. Heath, Priscilla. With me. Matthew. Oswin. Make sure that there's no panic, and that I don't look too... uncourtly, if I'm late back. Delay the feast if you need to. Ugh, politics is a drain."

"Yes, lord Hector."

"Okay..."

"Will do."

"Yes, my lord."

A small maiden and a battle-scarred knight got up from opposite chairs. The cleric noted the icy-blue tome poking out of the maiden's bag, and that the knight went for a weapons rack, retrieving a spear that looked absolutely terrifying.

Hector looked back to the cleric, who was still looking around the room in confusion. "You've done nothing wrong, lass! Show us to the patient."

"O-okay." the cleric carefully opened the doors. Denning was waiting outside. Immediately, Rex hasta was pointed at his chest, Fimbulvetr was out of the bag, and Hector had produced a Wolf Beil from his robes. The cleric jumped "Wait, what are you doing?!"

"He's a morph. Aren't you?" Said Hector, axe ready.

Denning nodded. "Lord nergal... awaits... at Dread Isle." he said, trying to explain.

Hector noted he was missing an arm, and the voice, and put a few odds and ends together. "You're the one I knocked out of the window! Huh. Never expected you'd survive that. Well, guess I'd better get on with it. Don't really want anything left of that madman. You, guardsman. I need you to-"

"W-wait, Lord Hector! What has he done to upset you so?" Said the cleric.

Hector looked around. "Well... It's a long story. But his lord is a murdering cur, who died just a little while ago. And he was made to serve him. A morph of many dead people, to be a mindless servant. They've killed a lot of people."

"But... surely if the lord he served is dead, then He won't have to follow his orders anymore! Please lord, a second chance!" Begged the cleric.

Denning collapsed in shock. Lord Nergal was dead? Lord Nergal was dead? Lord Nergal was dead? Impossible...

Hector looked down at them "Honestly, I'm no magician... but I'm pretty sure if you cut off a plant's supply of water, it withers. He'll probably not last long anyways. Be a waste of an axe to cut him down. Fine. But I'm not letting him out of my sight. Don't want him trying anything funny. Priscilla. How long's he got left, do you think?"

Priscilla stowed the tome, and looked at Denning. Unlike the cleric, she looked at the ripped sleeve, and soon found the fact that his entire left arm was now dust, or crumbling. She stood up, and faced the cleric. "What's your name?" She said gently.

"I'm Ruth."

"Okay, Ruth... He... no, it, is held together by dark magic. I don't wish any despair upon you, but as that magic fails and falls apart, it has to go somewhere. I don't think it can be fixed. This morph probably has a week to live before the crumbling reaches his heart, and then he'll fully dissolve. It... might be kinder to put him down." She whispered.

Ruth shook her head. "If I only had a week... then I would want to die satisfied. Lord Hector. Do you know if it's possible to travel to the dread isle?"

Hector nodded, keeping a wary eye on Denning. "Yes. You can't seriously be considering taking him there. The thing's a born killer. It literally existed only to hurt us all."

"I can't feel any hostility in it's magic. Just a feeling of being lost... I really want him to be at peace for his last moments."

Hector sighed. "Fine. For now, I've got a feast to attend. You got any plan for getting to the isle, Ruth?"

"Um..."

Hector rolled his eyes "I'll bail you out, if it means this much to you. Clerics, too good for their own good. Heath, If you give her a lift to the isle I'll give you some gold"

"Yes, Lord Hector. My thanks. But can I still attend the feast? I want to see everyone again, we can leave after." Said Heath.

Hector laughed "I wouldn't ask you to miss it! Come on, everyone. Oswin's going to be angry if we hold things up."

He turned back into the hall, followed by Heath and Priscilla.

Ruth called "Wait, where should I meet you, Heath?"

Hector responded with "Just come with us, it's not like it's a political affair of anything!"

Ruth carefully helped Denning to his feet.

Denning looked at the floor. "Dread isle... Dread..." He murmured.

"It'll be okay. We're going to take you there. Just come with me." Said Ruth, guiding Denning into the room.

Denning drew more than a few odd glances, but he was oblivious to them.

He and Ruth sat on a bench in a corner, next to a red-haired person that looked oddly similar to Priscilla. Maybe a cousin? Ruth looked around the room. "Never been to a place like this..." She said quietly.

"Not many of us have. This is all meant to be kept secret, but you know half the important stuff already." Said Heath. "But an evil sorcerer called Nergal tried to use these morphs to start a war in Lycia, and call dragons back to the land. We couldn't get any aid from other nobles, because we lacked proof, but us mercenaries that fought for Lord Eliwood and Lord Hector were all invited to a feast, here in Ositia, in lieu of an official celebration. And then we're all to go our separate ways, to minimise suspicion. Don't really want any other aspiring mages finding his work."

"Where are you going to go, sir?" Said Ruth.

Heath looked at Priscilla, chatting with Raven, and smiled. "I'm going to go to Etruria, with Priscilla. We wish to be wed, but..." He sighed, cheeriness failing. "I.. I don't know if it's possible. I'm a simple mercenary, and she's a noble. She couldn't survive on the run, and her courts would sooner execute someone of my standing than let me marry her."

Ruth looked forwards, unable to look at the two of them all of a sudden. "What about your connections to House Ostia? Surely they must count for something..."

Heath looked downcast. "Etruria is very strict. And even so, Lord Hector has already taken great risks even allowing me to travel with him. I'm wanted for treason in Bern. If there's any connection between me and Ostia... it'd be an excuse for invasion. A bad one, but still used."

Priscilla picked up on that, and turned to look at the two of them. "Heath... you're thinking about Etruria again, aren't you?"

"Yes. Sorry, I know it troubles you to see me like this."

"Don't be... If there is anything to be done, I will do it. I know you would do the same, if our positions were swapped." Said Priscilla.

Heath smiled again.

Ruth looked at Denning. The morph was shrinking away from the person opposite him. A sage with a scarlet cloak and blue tabard, giving him a hard stare. "Is something wrong?" Said Ruth.

Erk stopped staring, and looked at her. "Well, considering that your mute friend there is a morph, yes."

"Oh, I know about that. I'm going to take him back to Valor, so he can have a peaceful end." Said Ruth.

Erk's gaze softened. "Very noble. I might not like these morphs, but I can respect that."

There was a tapping, and the chatter died down. Hector stood up from the throne, holding a goblet. "Right, I was never one for speeches, but I was never going to be marquis, so consider this my first try. Friends, Allies, and Mercenaries. Tonight, I've invited you all here in honour of our victory on the Dread isle, as a final reunion before we have to split apart. To those of you present, I would like to propose a toast, in the names of Archsage Athos, and Druid Bramimond, who gave their lives for Elibe. So, For ATHOS!" He raised his goblet.

"FOR ATHOS!"

"For BRAMIMOND!"

"FOR BRAMIMOND!"

"Let the feast begin!" Yelled Hector.

A steady line of servants filed into the rooms, carrying platters of food. Ruth watched Denning through the evening, wile listening to the stories of those sat near her.

 **Author's notes: Currently balancing a lot of stories, so next update might not be fast. I'm trying not to make Ruth into the main character here, but she will feature heavily. Oh, if anyone's read the Heath/Priscilla ending... It hasn't changed here. I'm evil, I know.**

 **Update: fixed some capitalizations. Also, I think I owe Hawki an explanation as to Denning not immediately being connected to the attack. In-game, it's suggested that the entire events surrounding both the attack and the person behind it are kept as secret as possible, with only four or so members of the castle outside the official guards that even know the attack happens. Aside from that, when the morphs die they crumble to nothing, so even if Ruth did know about them she wouldn't expect there to be a body.**

 **Although yes, my execution's been a bit off lately. Perhaps I'm being too impatient with my story.**

 **Reidiantdawn: I always wondered if it would be possible to make a character like Denning into an interesting one. His personality... We'll go more into that over the next few chapters.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Departure

The feast itself lasted around half an hour, but everyone was chatting for well over three. Eventually, Ruth excused herself and guided Denning out of the room.

Denning followed her awkwardly, his mind swirling, almost overloaded with massive amounts of information. Etruria seemed to be a place that was very important to these people... But it seemed to almost reject them. But it didn't matter. Only the purpose mattered. But what was his purpose, if Lord Nergal was gone?

Denning could not hold onto hope, as he did not have the capacity to hope.

 _Nergal is the core of my purposes. He is my Lord. So I must seek out any trace of him_. Thought Denning. He barely even registered the hand guiding him through the corridors, back to the infirmary.

Ruth swung the door open, and moved Denning to a bed. "Now, we're going to take you to Valor tomorrow. If that's what you want. You're quite lucky that Lord Hector gave you aid. You ought to sleep now, do you need anything?"

Denning carefully drew the chalkboard. His precious lifeline to finding Nergal. He etched a 'No' onto the board.

Ruth smiled. "I'll leave you be for now, but if something happens, or you feel any pain in your arm, there will be a guard outside. He'll fetch me. Goodnight, now... oh. What's your name? I never thought to ask."

Denning thought. His name? But names... names were for Lords. For people who could give purpose. But for a second, a flicker of stolen memories washed across his mind. The woman... who had been in the field. She was on the ground now, a cut across her chest. 'Denning... I...' she choked, as the memory ended. Denning. That must be his name. No other name presented itself. He wiped the slate, and wrote 'Denning'.

"Denning? That sounds... Biranese. Well, goodnight, Denning." Ruth left, closing the door.

Denning sat there. Was he expected to do something? But he had no instructions...

* * *

In the morning, Ruth came in to find Denning sitting exactly as she had left him. "Were you like that all night?" She asked.

Denning nodded.

"I... see that you don't need sleep, then. Come with me. Sir Heath has packed for our trip." She took Denning by the hand, and guided him through the corridors of the castle.

It was a good day. The skies were a little cloudy, but the sun shone through nonetheless. Servants bustled, as many of Hector's guests packed thier bags to leave. Ruth went through corridor after corridor, down several flights of stairs until eventually coming out in the stables. Denning looked around, feeling an odd spark. Something here gave him the oddest sense of Deja Vu. He focused on the unusual feeling. He had never been here before, he was sure? So why was it familiar?

Heath stepped out from one of the stalls. "I've packed you enough rations for two days on Valor. Farina has been hired to assist us, and will make the journey alongside us. Who would like to travel with her?"

Ruth looked at Denning "Well... He can't speak well, and he's..." She glaced around, seeing many other servants. "You know. He might scare a Pegasus, they're magically sensitive. N-not that I'm scared of Wyverns, I just-"

"It's alright. Come on, She'll be here in a moment, once she's finished getting her lance back from the smith. I'll get your charge saddled up." Said Heath.

Farina hopped down the stairs just as Heath was checking the straps were secure on Denning. "Whew! Sorry I'm late, I just had to go and buy some vulnerary." She held up two brown glass bottles. "Hey, miss Ruth. We'll go now, but are you a fighter? Need any tomes, or staves? We can stop in the village."

Ruth's hand dropped to her side, feeling a part of her dress. but then she took her cloth bag off her shoulders, and produced a healing stave. "I'm just a simple cleric, miss Farina. Perhaps if I do well, the church will see fit to train me more, but it's not often we hold the cermony to advance people to bishops."

Farina smiled "You could just get a Guiding ring."

"A... a what, miss?"

"A guiding ring. They're magical objects that allow those who weild magic to instantly gain a portion of knowledge, power and new armor, without any kind of ceremony. I think they were invented to give emergency promotions to soldiers if officers fell, since you can't hold cermonies in the middle of wars. There are many equivalents, too, that contain the magic to give new powers to most other kinds of people. Heath, you used one, right?" Explaned Farina.

Heath nodded to his wyvern. "I used a version called an Elysian whip. It gave me, and also my mount Hyperion better armour. Plus it taught me swords, or at least the basics. But those items are very rare, I think they're difficult to make."

"Oh, wow. You'll have to tell me more on the way..." Said Ruth.

"Yeah, let's go. Come on, Ruth! Ever flown before?" Cheered Farina.

Ruth walked up to Farina's pegasus. "N-no... but I want to try!"

"Just hold onto my waist, we're going to fly to Badon, and rest there for a few hours before we fly to Valor. Heath, are you prepared?"

Heath looked to Denning. In lieu of his arm, a lot of rope had been used to tie the morph to the saddle. "Yes. Now, Hyperion, forward!" His wyvern bounded out of the stables, kicking off into the air.

Denning felt his stomach drop as the ground was suddenly away from himself. This felt so much like... like... what was it? He noticed a few bits of dust fall from his empty sleeve. His head was just so... What was he thinking of? And why did he belive he was safe? _I am not consciously deciding I am safe. Therefore, it must be subconscious. But what is the subconscious? Lord Nergal, I require more knowledge to solve my problem..._

* * *

Ruth watched as the ground whisked past her, treetops that she'd never seen before finally visible, towns displayed from above. Flying was something she'd always wanted to do, to be completely free of any limits on her movement, and this made Ruth long for a pegasus of her own. She adored this feeling of the breeze against her cloak. She looked down to see a stream with a pair of boys fishing in the clear water, but in a moment she was past it, onto new sections of land.

The mounts flew for at least an hour before a large port town came into view. Heath gave a sharp whistle, and Farina veered her pegasus over to one side, to line it up with Heath's wyvern, as they came in for a landing outside the town's stables. Considering how fast the pegasus had been moving, the grace with which it slowed and cantered to the ground was shocking. Heath's wyvern slowed far less, landing with a solid thump. Farina jumped off her pegasus. Ruth tried to do the same, and discovered that her legs were sore. Really sore.

"Ooh! Farina, I need some help!" Said Ruth, awkwardly trying to move herself.

Farina reached up and lifted one of Ruth's legs off the pegasus. "First time riding, huh? You'd better sit down, because that was the warm-up for today's journey. Our schedule is to stop here for lunch and to rest our mounts, and then it's onto one of the most utterly crazy flight paths there is. A four hour journey, with absolutely no way to stop, so if anything goes wrong, then you're as good as dead. Poorly-bred mounts would die of exhaustion before completing it, so it's a good thing that our homelands take flying seriously. You'll get used to riding quickly enough Ruth, but tonight... well, I have vulnerary. I'll even give it for free."

Ruth swalllowed "Oh dear... thank you. Oh, where are we going to have our lunch? Port towns have so many pirates... what if we're robbed?"

Heath walked over, Denning in tow. "Do not worry. Lord Eliwood made a very good impression on one of this town's most influential men, and both I and Farina are known to him and his lot. If anyone tries anything, we'll have a small army to back us up."

Denning was staring at the town's buildings and streets. What was this place? It was not Valor, but seemed to be a step towards his goal. Yes, his goal... reaching... who, was it? Nergal. He had to reach Nergal.

Ruth took Denning's hand, and folllowed her escorts into the town. They walked along the street for a while, passing an arena, then a few shops, before arriving at a tavern.

Heath looked up at the stone walls of the building. "This is the one, I think."

They walked in, and were greeted by gentle music on an accordion. The tavern was about half full, mostly pirates with the odd traveller. A redhead behind the bar was serving drinks and relaying orders to the kitchen with a smile on her face, while groups of men laughed about things Ruth wouldn't approve of on most of the tables.

Ruth looked to Heath. "Th-these people are a-all pirates."

Farina shrugged. "Safe as pirates get. Sure, they'll rob you blind, but they won't just kill you for fun. Honestly, half of them are gentlemen compared to mercenary contractors. Besides, see him?" She pointed to a somewhat older man in a tattered jacket. "Captain Fargus, the most dangerous man in town. Also a great friend of ours, so if someone messes with us, they'll have the tavern on them."

Denning just looked around in bewilderment. This many people, all without a purpose relating to him at all... he felt what could best be described as a dull existential crisis, as his constructed mind started to realise how large the world could be.

* * *

They ordered some food, before taking a table. Ruth crammed her sandwich down and looked at the two fliers. "Can we please get of here?"

"Scared?" Said a voice behind her. Ruth turned to see a man with enough muscle to crush a skull in one hand, looming ominously.

Farina looked up. "Hi Dart!" she said brightly.

Dart smiled, and sat down next to Ruth. She made a tiny squeaking sound. "So, what're you doing in Badon again? More mercenary work already, or looking to join the Davros?"

Heath gave a tiny shake of his head. "No, it's a return trip to Valor. We'll be going on our mounts though, before you say it."

Dart just laughed "No, I think we've all seen enough of that isle for our lives. I think we'll ask the next person who tries to go for a million gold, and see what colour their face turns."

"Knowing your luck, they'll probably pay up front, and you'll be stuck going." Replied Heath.

"Yeah, but then I have a million gold. Win-win."

Farina looked at him cheerily "I thought _I_ was the money-lover here!"

Ruth was completely silent. She stared at Denning, hoping for an excuse to leave. As she looked at Denning, she noticed some things she hadn't before. While his clothing generally matched that worn by the archers of this country, there was one thing missing. They bore absolutely no kind of crest, nothing that linked them back to a producer. It was to be expected, she supposed, but still strange to see.

Denning looked at the three warriors around the table. There was something about them... Something that made him feel like there was a reason for being here. But what? His vision unfocused for a second. His head just felt so foggy. He ought to clear it, to refocus on his task. He had to... find... someone?

* * *

Heath and Farina left in high spirits after a few minutes, and the second they were out of the building Ruth exhaled loudly.

"Please... never again. Don't make me go so close to pirates again." She said to no member of the group in particular.

Heath looked at her concernedly. "I didn't realise you were that terrified. Are you going to be all right to fly? I don't want to make you ill."

Ruth took a moment to take some deep breaths. "I'll be alright. If I want to be a proper healer, then I can't let myself get scared by people."

Farina looked over Denning. "So... Why are we actually taking a morph anywhere? It's not like they'll appreciate it."

Ruth looked to Farina. "If I were in his position, separated from everyone I know, and dying, I would want to receive this help. And if I can... I want to save him."

Denning regarded all this. If he were to be saved, that would be good, because it would allow him to serve Lord Nergal once again. But if Ruth were good, and his lord were good... why would so many of her friends fight against his lord? Was something wrong in the world? He stumbled for a moment, as his head clouded, ending that train of thought. And... wasn't Lord Nergal dead? No, that was wrong. Just fundamentally... but...

After that same short walk back to the stables, everyone mounted up quickly. It was just passing noon, the sun blazing overhead as a sea breeze blew through the streets of the town. Heath gave the order, and the four of them lifted off, gliding for the sea.

* * *

Ruth watched as the seemingly endless ocean passed underneath her, feeling the Pegasus's wingbeats as vertigo clutched her heart. She gripped Farina's waist even tighter. "Where is the island? What if our mounts tire before we reach it?" She called.

Farina's gaze was fixed ahead "It's about three, maybe four hours away. My pegasus can carry me and you for six before they need to rest. No idea about Heath's wyvern."

Denning was staring at the back of Heath's head. Something was so very confusing about it to him, but he couldn't quite place it. There was something about it that he just hadn't seen before... The hair. _Why was his hair green? Hair was black. But..._ Denning internally had a drawn out moment of complete shock as he realised that in all the time he'd been away from his lord, he'd not seen anyone else with black hair. And then, he asked himself one critical question. _Why didn't I realise that until now?_ Even in the depths of his barely functional mind, the gears of logic could still turn. This wasn't the only thing that had driven him to start this chain of though, as in a moment of clarity, a few things surfaced in Denning's mind.

 _I don't have a name, I am morph 17. Lord Nergal made me to carry out his will, and shall obey until my death. I am dying. And I do not know his will. But these people... they help me to discern his will. And yet... when I only focus upon the will of Nergal... I cannot seem to notice the obvious... can I better serve by looking at more?_

The thought was lost to another wave of haziness, but the deduction remained, Denning clinging to his conclusion even as his failing magic threatened to let it break down to nothing more than meaningless letters.

* * *

As Valor came into view, Ruth felt immense relief, and apprehension. "I was expecting it would look more foreboding... yet it still scares me." She said.

Farina started to bring her Pegasus down to a lower altitude. "There's a saying among mercenaries: If you're scared of something and you don't know why, then try not to be. If you can't, stay away because it's worth being scared of."

"I don't understand... but we can't stay away from this place now."

"It means that even if you can't knowingly sense danger, your mind may still have picked up on something instinctually. If you try to consciously dispel fear, then what's left is worth being afraid of." Farina explained. "I'll tell you more of our sayings if you've got a little gold."

The mounts touched down upon the shores of Valor. Ruth had been desperate to get off the Pegasus previously, but as her shoe touched the sands she couldn't help but feel like she was in grave danger here.

Denning, on the other hand, stepped onto the ground with a previously unseen stability. His missing arm didn't unbalance him as greatly, and Ruth could have sworn that his complexion was just a little healthier. "Lord Nergal!" He said happily, to nobody in particular.

Heath started unpacking Hyperion's saddlebags. Rations, blankets, Rex hasta, a steel sword and an elixir. "Everyone, we should move deeper into the island. There are ruins we can rest at."

Farina looked at Ruth, staggering from her saddle-sores. "Ruth, listen. This island has a lot of dark magic around it, and as a cleric, you're probably the best at resisting it here. We're counting on you to warn us if there's a magical danger."

"I'll do my best. Where should we go?" Replied Ruth.

"Lord Nergal!" Chimed in Denning.

Heath raised an eyebrow "About fifteen minutes forward is a small abandoned fort. We'll rest there, or we're going to be exhausted in a fight. Once you're ready, let's go- _Do not split up_."

The four left for the fort.

 **Author's notes: Updates have been greatly slowed because I have exams, don't expect another one for like a month. I'm trying to work on my pacing, but I still worry I'm moving too fast. Feedback o that would be appreciated.**

 **Many reviewers: Sorry about chapter 2, hopefully this is an improvement. I'll try and fix it as much as possible when exams end.**


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